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Her eyes widened and she charged, sword poised to sink into his chest. At the last moment—she turned it on herself. “No!” he bellowed. Then somehow he was between her and the sword tip, wedged against her body. The blade slid into his lower back until it met bone.
Elizabeth had nearly robbed him of his coveted Bride, had disobeyed his orders—twice—and had stabbed him. Yet she was furious with him?
“Are you done?” he snapped. Expression mulish, she muttered, “For a spell.” Challenging me still? Lothaire knew he balanced on the very brink of insanity; now he realized this human might already be there.
He gazed down into her striking eyes with bemusement. The feeling was almost . . . hypnotic. She permeated all his senses. His Bride’s body was giving off an unbearable heat as it trembled against him. Her rapid heartbeat was a siren’s call to him, flaunting its coursing rush. A vein in her neck pulsed invitingly.
His gaze fell on the silky spill of her hair flowing loose past her shoulders. Dark brown waves made the color of those eyes stand out: smoky gray, framed with thick black lashes. She’d grown prettier in the intervening years. Curvier. Her hips rounded enticingly, her high breasts straining against that threadbare top.
Whatever Elizabeth saw in his expression made her suck in a breath, her cheeks pinkening. “What do you want from me?” His gaze fell on her neck, his fangs throbbing for that tender flesh. To touch you. To drink you and make you grow wet from it. . . .
Though Lothaire killed so readily, though he unfailingly acted without honor, he wouldn’t betray his queen.
“Why can’t you stay in control?” With her gray eyes glittering, Saroya had hissed, “The mortal’s too strong.”
Lothaire had stayed alive this long by using his ability to predict his adversaries’ moves. He knew how they would behave, oftentimes before they did. His life was an endless chess match, a calculated march taking him ever closer to his Endgame—of kingdoms seized and retribution delivered. Yet this female continued to prove unpredictable. When she’d turned the blade on herself . . .
Though immortals with untold strength and abilities routinely quaked before him, a powerless human who was not even a quarter of a century old was defying him.
Surely he’d want to make love to his queen at last. Because, for whatever reason, he never had before. Ellie was still a virgin. Which meant that Saroya had never taken a lover when she’d gained control.
“You are quite the accomplished bluffer, little human . . .” She felt his breath on her neck before she whirled around. “. . . but your racing heart gives you away,” he finished.
With a scowl, he continued pacing, pondering his reaction to her earlier. He couldn’t remember his body responding that wildly during his one night with Saroya.
For years, he’d remained apart from her easily, once he’d taken his initial release with her in the woods. Now lust seethed inside him.
Blood began trickling from the needle puncture on one inner arm. His gaze locked on it, hunger racking him. He’d been injured repeatedly. Surely that was the only reason why he wanted so badly to sample her. Not because the scent of her blood was exquisite . . . making his cock swell in his pants and his fangs sharpen.
He hadn’t allowed himself a taste of her before. Her blood would serve no purpose, might put him over the edge. But gods, its call was irresistible.
How many times had he hungered for flesh but denied himself? Yet never had his fangs throbbed like this, dripping to penetrate her. . . .
“I’ll like it more if you fight. You’ll like it more if you don’t.” Scores of women—and men—had enjoyed his bloodtaking. It made them hunger, made them cling to him as if they wanted to sacrifice themselves on his fangs.
Mortals seemed particularly susceptible. Many came in his arms. Would Elizabeth? The idea made him harden even more. He dipped his head, mouth closing over the fine wound. When his tongue touched a drop of blood, his body jerked as if lightning-struck.
He licked the seam again and again, wanting to roar when she began trembling, her resistance easing. She leaned into him, her back pressed against his aching shaft. When he snatched her tighter still and ground it against her, she moaned. Yes, mortals liked his bloodtaking, but she was shaking with need.
Though her spirit would continue on after this human’s death, just as it always did, this was the body she wanted. Saroya was determined to keep it alive and unharmed. To do so, she needed this vampire’s assistance.
“This body ages with each day.” Lothaire prowled around her, shamelessly raking his gaze over her form. “It is much changed.”
“You’ve suffered no ill from your time in prison, have only grown more beautiful.”
Had Elizabeth lost weight? Saroya had resigned herself to her new short frame—mere inches over five feet—but she couldn’t accept this leanness. “The body’s too slim.”
At least Elizabeth’s bust had grown to a decent size. When Saroya cupped herself with relief, Lothaire’s eyes grew hooded.
Unlike her twin sister, Lamia, a goddess of life and fertility, Saroya was a virgin deity and forever would be, defending her chastity to the death. . . .
Yet Lothaire believed she was a sexual creature, believed she’d never taken a lover into Elizabeth’s body out of faithfulness to him. . .
Yet another reason this body was a seamless fit. Elizabeth was a virgin, much to Lothaire’s fascination.
“I’m quite content with your host as well.
“As I told you years ago, Lothaire, I won’t yield this body until it’s fully mine to give you.” He straightened, meeting her eyes. “And as I told you, Saroya, I can’t take you until you’re immortal, else risk killing you with my strength. But there are other ways to pleasure each other.”
Lothaire had been thirty-three when he’d last had a woman beneath him, the night before his heart had stopped its beating and he’d frozen into his immortal form. Until that age, he’d enjoyed females from all factions in the Lore, had taken a new one every night.
Eight figures’ worth of baubles. Lothaire sighed. Welcome to matrimony.
“Am I to have no privacy?” she asked. “No,” he said simply. No longer. He owned the body as much as she did. He’d be there for any alterations. “And after this, I want to see you in the garments I’ve bought for you.” He leaned down to say at her ear, “See you in the lingerie.” His gaze dipped, greedily taking in the swells of her breasts.
He pinched her chin, turning her to face him. “Saroya, I don’t buy you these things for your benefit.” Never would he give a gift with no thought of a return on his investment. “I buy them for both of us to enjoy. Just as we will this new body.”
But no matter what her proclivities were, he knew the great Saroya wouldn’t happily bed a mate like him, a male who would demand obedience in all ways. And he would never rape a female. So it would take all his considerable experience to bring her to heel—
“You forget I’m a goddess,” she hissed. “Your goddess.” And a bitch as well. But then, weren’t all goddesses afflicted with bitchery?
“You forget that you have no power. So for now, I am your god. Stop pushing me, Saroya.” He held her gaze. “You won’t like it when I push back.”
Even she could admit how handsome he appeared in his tailored garments. His longish blond hair was cleaned of blood and styled with a seemingly careless air—into a perfectly decadent result. He wore sunglasses to hide his eyes and a long coat to cover his physical reaction to her. Both made him look even more the rogue. Especially with that dark gold stubble on his jaw—he’d been frozen forever with it, could shave his face, but it would soon return to the same rakish length.
An idea arose. Why not let Elizabeth endure his primitive lusts? “You may sate yourself on Elizabeth.” At least, up to a point. Saroya didn’t want her favorite temple defiled by Lothaire’s offspring.
Lothaire’s hot mouth against her neck. His fangs raking over her skin for blood. His tongue snaking to the drops. She shivered. He’d tasted her blood. Oh, my Lord, vampires exist.
“I am not the god you’re referring to,” Lothaire intoned from a murky corner. “Although to you, I might as well be.”
“Be sarcastic all you want to, mister, but you were tonguing my vein like a son of a bitch before I kicked toes-up.” “And you were loving it. Moaning and rubbing against me.” She gazed away in embarrassment. Because what he said was true. The pleasure she’d felt had been bewildering. . . .
If you hate this so much, then why rise at all?” “Because this is my body.” She thumped her nearly bared chest, and the bangles at her wrists clanged. “Mine!” “Incorrect. I’ve staked my claim on it.
She recalled when he’d licked her blood. Her eyes went wide. “Oh!” He’d had an erection, had ground it against her back.
Dear God, he’s . . . fine. All chiseled features and tousled blond hair. Even those creepy eyes couldn’t detract from the rest of his face, just made him look like some kind of fallen angel.
“One jail to another.” “Precisely,” he murmured, laying his palms over her hips. She froze, not knowing what to do. They probably appeared to all the world like lovers taking in the skyline, instead of a vampire and his captive. Her skin prickled with awareness of him.
Had his gaze dipped to the revealing V of her dress?
He started back to the bedroom, snapping over his shoulder, “Come.” She found her heels digging into the spot. The only thing that held a candle to her stubbornness was her inability to take orders. “You truly think you own me?” He faced her with a bland look. “Yes.”
He pinched her chin, hard. “Careful, little pet. If you play with me, you won’t like it when I join the game.”
He appeared beside her in an instant, his hand closing over one of her elbows. “You are mine. Your body is mine by right. I do own you. The sooner you accept this, the better off you’ll be.”
